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    markusmeyer.photo

    Advisor, operations lead and occasional photographer. Based in Porvoo, Finland.

    Conned 13 Jan 2015 Some transactions later I step Conned
13 Jan 2015

Some transactions later I step out of the leather shop, some fine goods in my bag but all out of cash.

Remember when Abdul, the guide, told me he won’t be asking for anything? This is the moment he steps forth and says he’d like a small fee for his services.

I’m not even mad; this is how things work around here. I do tell him he’s out of luck though, because that shop behind me just happily accepted all my cash.

An alternative solution is needed. So there, deep in the old medina of Marrakech, we figure it out: Abdul suggests he’ll hop on that scooter nearby and we’ll take a ride to one of the ATMs closer to Jemaa-el-Fnaa. Would save me a bit of walking, too.

Why the hell not, let’s go. With Abdul wrestling with the rickety two-wheeler, trying not to hit anything, I sit on the back and try not to hit anything as well; those alleys are narrow and things were moving fast as Abdul had no problem turning the throttle.

We zig and we zag our way, avoiding pedestrians and carts alike, back towards Jemaa-el-Fnaa. 

At times, it feels like we’re gliding through impossibly small gaps, ducking under low-hanging wires or archways as the scooter squeezes past groups of people. Despite the seeming chaos, there’s a rhythm to the movement. The locals, both on foot and on scooters, have an intuitive understanding of the flow of traffic in these confined spaces. It’s a dance of mutual awareness, with quick, precise moves. 

The ride is thrilling, blending excitement with a hint of nervousness, but it’s also a window into the vibrancy and energy of Marrakech’s ancient heart. By the time we reach an ATM, I still feel the rush of adrenaline, but it’s now coupled with a newfound appreciation for the city’s dynamic, fast-paced life.

I thank Abdul for his brief but intense services and give him an appropriate tip from my newly replenished cash reserves. 

We part ways, my feet back on firm cobblestones, and head towards the center of the medina.

By the way, I don’t know who’s scooter it was – but I’m sure it wasn’t his.

#marrakech #morocco #medina #travel #marrakechmedina #moroccotravel #visitmorocco
    The leather tannery 13 Jan 2015 Taking in my surr The leather tannery
13 Jan 2015

Taking in my surroundings, Ben Saleh retains a raw, authentic atmosphere as compared to the more polished, tourist-friendly parts of the medina. The pace of life here is slower, more deliberate, and feels as though it has changed little over the years.

A man approaches me, presents himself as Abdul; one of the medina guides. Maybe I was looking lost. I definitely didn’t look like a local. I sense I’ve been made a mark for a con yet to be realized, but Abdul tells me he gets salary from the Moroccan Tourist Office so he’s not asking for anything.

Fine, I’ll bite. Let’s do some sightseeing then.

Leather is a major export of Morocco, and I was keen to see a leather tannery. Abdul takes me there, guides me to the gate and tells me he’ll wait outside.

Visiting a leather tannery in Marrakech is a sensory-rich experience, steeped in tradition and a bit of intensity. The tannery guide provides me with a fistful of mint sprigs, meant for holding under ones nose to ward off unwelcome smells. I accept them, but won’t do the masking yet – I want to see what this is about first. The strong, pungent smell – a mix of animal hides, lime, and natural dyes – hits me as we pass through the gate. It is quite something, but still manageable so I decide to leave out the mint.

Once inside, I’m greeted with a vivid scene: large stone vats filled with colourful liquids ranging from bright reds, yellows, and oranges to more earthy tones. Workers, dressed in simple clothes, stand waist-deep in these vats, treating the hides by soaking them in mixtures of pigeon droppings, lime, and other natural ingredients.

The process seems labour-intensive and gritty, but there is something fascinating about seeing such an ancient craft in action.

After the tour, I head into the nearby shop and see what the final goods look like. They offer me a cup of tea, which I accept, knowing full well doing so is considered a signed agreement that business is about to happen.

#morocco #tannery #leather #medina #travelphotography #marrakech #traditionalcraft
    Ben Saleh – a century apart 13 Jan 2015 Hugo Back Ben Saleh – a century apart
13 Jan 2015

Hugo Backmansson (1860 – 1953) was a Finnish artist, battle painter, and bona fide adventurer. Several of his intrepid journeys in the early 20th century took him to Morocco and Tunisia, and resulted in a series of artworks portraying what things looked like back there and then. 

One of these is a watercolour painting I’ve been admiring since I was young. Visits to my grandmother would often involve long contemplations in front of that two-dimensional windowpane, gazing into a foreign culture in a world long gone.

The painting in question, from 1920, depicts the mosque and surrounding souk in Ben Saleh.

The same Ben Saleh I just arrived at, countless alleys later.

Almost a century apart, I’m now here; for the briefest moment retracing the steps of that adventurous battle painter. Grandmother will love to hear about this.

#Morocco #TravelHistory #ArtHistory #MoroccanCulture #Wanderlust #HeritogeTravel #VisualArts
    Labyrinth 13 Jan 2015 The maze-like alleys are li Labyrinth
13 Jan 2015

The maze-like alleys are lined with intricately carved doors and beautiful iron window grilles. Occasionally, the streets open up into small plazas or crossroads where local vendors sell fresh produce, fragrant spices, or simple household goods.

It’s easy to get lost here. With no visual landmarks, the alleys melt together into an amorphous labyrinth of stucco and crumbling stone.

My walking isn’t aimless, though. 

I’m on a quest; to find a specific mosque – the one in Ben Saleh.

#morocco #medina #marrakech #travel #architecture #labyrinth #mosque
    Medina 13 Jan 2015 The Old Medina in Marrakech is Medina
13 Jan 2015

The Old Medina in Marrakech is vast; narrow and winding streets connecting a maze-like network of riads, squares and souks – all surrounded by 19 km of city walls. 

The alleys too narrow for cars, it’s a quite pedestrian-friendly area. 

The air is still heavy with a mix of spices. In the growing distance, the melodic chant of a prayer call is heard from the Koutoubia mosque minaret, echoing off the adobe walls of the surrounding buildings.

The worn cobblestones beneath my feet feel real, grounding me, as I venture deeper into the old city.

#marrakech #medina #travel #travelphotography #morocco #wanderlust #marrakechmedina
    Jemaa-el-Fnaa 13 Jan 2015 If entering the medina Jemaa-el-Fnaa
13 Jan 2015

If entering the medina through the front door, Jemaa-el-Fnaa would be the entrance hall to what lies within. A sprawling open space surrounded by historical architecture. To the north, traditional Moroccan buildings with ornate balconies and terraces that offer a view of the bustling activity below. Behind me, to the west, the towering minaret of the Koutubia mosque.

There’s a certain rhythm to the chaos – a pulse that I feel in my chest. The hum of voices rises and falls, and the air is thick with the scent of grilled meats, sweet mint tea, and the sharp tang of citrus, with a twist of unfamiliar excitement. It’s overwhelming but in a way that makes me feel awake, more alert than I’ve felt in months.

My exploration takes me onwards; into the medina.

#marrakech #morocco #jemaaelfna #travel #medina #wanderlust #travelphotography
    Enter the Red City 13 Jan 2015 Marrakech – the Re Enter the Red City
13 Jan 2015

Marrakech – the Red City. Called so because of its buildings and ramparts of beaten clay, built long ago, during the residence of the Almohads. My footsteps lead towards one of the entrances to the medina; one of the many openings in the thick red wall surrounding the old part of the city.

Behind me, a more contemporary Marrakech; skylined against the Atlas mountain range looming in the distance.

Fatigue brought me here. Ever since I returned home from my extended stay in India, 9 months prior, I was lacking a sense of belonging. Between India’s organic disarray and Finland’s orderly confinement, I was in a limbo of wants, needs and preferences. A reacclimatization that didn’t happen; rest that didn’t come.

I needed to shake things up a bit. Shake myself up a bit for that matter.

And so, under the near-zenith sun of Morocco, I observe the people around me and admire that ochre city wall for a moment; dust off my jeans, and head into the medina. Experiences await.

#marrakech #morocco #visitmorocco #travel #redcity #medina #moroccotravel
    Onwards 27 Oct 2013 After a busy few days in Mumb Onwards
27 Oct 2013

After a busy few days in Mumbai I felt saturated and headed back to Pune; all I had experienced during the weekend needed some digesting and contemplation. From the general ambience, to the alleys of Bhendi Bazaar, and onwards into the murky depths of Dhobi Ghat – what an exhilirating escapade! 

But too intense for prolonged exposure, time to get out and wind down a bit.

This concludes this journal entry of my time in India 2013-2014. There is more, lots of it, but I think we could use some change of scenery; stay tuned while I look through the digital darkroom for that next destination.

Until then.

#india #mumbai
    Bang! You're dead 27 Oct 2013 Back at the entranc Bang! You're dead
27 Oct 2013

Back at the entrance, the tired washerman still rests. 

On my way out, this kid walks by me; a slight mischievous grin on his face. As he passes he turns around, points a toy gun and shoots.

Bang, you're dead.

That rapscallion.

Even here, among dilapitated surroundings, people worn down by 14 hour work shifts and air filled with soot from burning furnaces, there is room for kids to play.

With that sliver of solace in mind, I bid farewell to Dhobi Ghat.

#india #mumbai #DhobiGhat
    Break 27 Oct 2013 The corridor opens up into anot Break
27 Oct 2013

The corridor opens up into another general area. There's a soft ambience of busyness in the air; washermen sorting through the piles of laundry of the day, others enjoying a hard-earned break.

Around 5000 washermen work here every day. After long days at the washing pens they retire to the shanties that constitute the chawl system that is Dhobi Ghat.

They don't take any particular notice of me. However, I don't want to intrude or overstay my welcome; I retrace my steps back to the entrance.

#india #mumbai #DhobiGhat
    Aerosol 27 Oct 2013 In this sombre space my eyes Aerosol
27 Oct 2013

In this sombre space my eyes keep scanning up towards the gap in the ceiling; the only light source in the room in addition to the naked flames of the boiler furnaces lining the wall.

Strips of torn canvas hang on the old wood beams, perhaps awaiting their final disintegration in the next monsoon season, when a steady rainfall will punish them for months on end. If there are sufficient resources available the roof will be covered with plastic tarp to avoid flooding the interior.

The air is so thick with smoke from burning coal that the sizeable particles are visibly dancing in the light beam, unsure about where to move in the non-existent air circulation.

I snap out of it, and move on.

#india #mumbai #DhobiGhat
    The chawl 27 Oct 2013 The corridors lead me deepe The chawl
27 Oct 2013

The corridors lead me deeper into the chawl system. More improvised boilers line the passageways.

Back in 1890, when India was still a British imperial colony, 50 washerwomen got together and formed the first commune at Dhobi Ghat. While certain changes have been made, it has remained true to its original appearance and purpose.

The surroundings may be rough, and the infrastructure patchy, but for many this is home; more than 800 households are accommodated on two levels of the chawl system in the enclave.

#india #mumbai #DhobiGhat
    Boiler room 27 Oct 2013 Seeking refuge from the s Boiler room
27 Oct 2013

Seeking refuge from the scorching sun, I enter one of the doorways and find myself in a rudimentary boiler room. Thick, grimy smoke fills the air, making it even harder to see the unlit interior. 

Sunlight seeps in through a torn roof. Bare concrete walls covered with soot. Barrels acting as improvised boilers, heating up the water used at the ghat. There doesn't seem to be any means to exhaust the resulting smoke, explaining why it's flowing unhindered into the room.

In the corner by the entrance, on a hardwood table, a washerman sleeps. Another proof of the demanding work and circumstances.

This room is one of the entry points to the chawllike network that is the main complex at Dhobi Ghat; a maze of corridors, living quarters and functional spaces essential to the laundry operations.

The ghat in general, and this area in particular, is off limits to the public. But you know how it goes; spot the man in charge, introduce yourself as a curious traveller, a bit of cash exchanges hands and voilá – access granted.

I try to get my bearings in the smoke and head deeper into the building complex.

#india #mumbai #DhobiGhat
    Bowling ball 27 Oct 2013 Continuing my walk aroun Bowling ball
27 Oct 2013

Continuing my walk around the wash pens and the washermen at work, I came across a particular fellow in the common area. He wandered around with a sense of absent mindedness, carrying a canvas bag containing something that my unversed eye suggested was a concealed bowling ball.

Something about this piques my interest so I say hello and ask him how he's doing. A short exchange later I cut to the chase and tell him about the funny thought about carrying a bowling ball around. He glances down at the bag, and asks if I want to see what's there.

Yes, please.

So he puts the bag down, and there's the softest thud and a slight rocking motion from the bowling ball finding its natural point of equilibrium. Before I realize that that's not something bowling balls do, he nonchalantly picks up and presents the prime ingredient for his imminent lunch; a severed goat head.

I compliment him on acquiring fresh and nutritious materials and ask him if I can take a photo, to which he agrees. I wish him bon appétit when the time comes and bid him farewell as I continue the exploration, now a little less hungry than before.

#india #mumbai #DhobiGhat
    Washerman 27 Oct 2013 The stairs lead me down to Washerman
27 Oct 2013

The stairs lead me down to a small courtyard, from where you can access the central grid of British colonial era wash pens of Dhobi Ghat. Washermen are busy at work despite the high noon sun beating down.

These washermen are traditionally called dhobis. Take note though: since the term is connected with the status of schedule castes, it is nowadays considered offensive.

The working day for the washermen isn't an easy one; they spend up to 14 hours in those wash pens, thrashing clothes against the flogging stones. With humble salaries, most of them can't afford sufficient protective gear; their hands and feet are constantly exposed to the alkaline solutions. You can imagine what that does to skin when subjected to them on a daily basis.

They take admirable pride in their work; the livelihood of approximately five thousand people depend on Dhobi Ghat, and the washermen doing this every day is what keeps that going - while waiting for a more automated future with washing machines and dryers to arrive.

Photo taken with permission.

#india #mumbai #DhobiGhat
    Enter Dhobi Ghat 27 Oct 2013 Before it's time to Enter Dhobi Ghat
27 Oct 2013

Before it's time to leave Mumbai, let's take a moment to explore a location called Mahalaxmi Dhobi Ghat. A branch off the main chapter, if you like.

The Dhobi Ghat, located in the Mahalaxmi neighbourhood in Mumbai, is a huge open air laundry place. It might seem chaotic at first glance; a patchy infrastructure covered by a vast number of cleaned garments hung to dry, among a gridwork of concrete wash pens.

But there is order hidden inside that chaos; considering that 7000 washermen work here every day, washing a total of 100 000 garments, there needs to be a system in place. Something that warrants a closer look.

The taxi left me on the adjacent bridge. The smell of detergent heavy in the air, I descend the stairs into the world's largest outdoor laundry – the Dhobi Ghat.

#india #mumbai #DhobiGhat
    (No) protection 27 Oct 2013 The deepening night c (No) protection
27 Oct 2013

The deepening night calls for most to retire for the day; not all have a secure shelter to retreat to, though.

The under-representation of the lower levels of Maslow's pyramid of needs is an unfortunately common sight in India. This manifests in various forms, one of which is vagrancy.

This particular disadvantaged soul had set up an elaborate ropework for repurposing marketing tarps into an urban bivouac.

#india #mumbai #urban
    Chewing the fat 27 Oct 2013 Walking around Ballar Chewing the fat
27 Oct 2013

Walking around Ballard Estate late in the evening, I pass by this tailor in the Borabazar precinct. The busy day is slowing down, the air becomes softer and even sounds lose their daytime intensity. The surroundings become a bit muffled, and you can hear your own footsteps again. There is still plenty of activity, but it has ebbed into small shops like this one. Smalltalk can be heard as I pass the doorway.

These tailors are one thing I miss from my time in India. Back home, if you'd purchase a shirt which wasn't a perfect fit, it'd stay that way; in the "good enough" -category. In India there were plenty of small shops like this, that could do their magic while you wait; measuring and a bit of cutting and sewing later and voilá, that shop-bought shirt now fits you like a proper tailored one.

#india #mumbai #urban #tailoring #night
    Colaba market 27 Oct 2013 As evening descends and Colaba market
27 Oct 2013

As evening descends and the air cools down just a bit, the market in Colaba starts to hum. 

Fresh produce is placed out on display in anticipation of the late afternoon grocery shoppers.

#india #mumbai #urban #market #colaba
    Long-term parking 27 Oct 2013 One of the things I Long-term parking
27 Oct 2013

One of the things I tried to figure out during my stay in India was the reliability of government functions in potential problem scenarios.

In other words; if something happens, who can I turn to for help.

The general sentiment, based on my own observations and discussions with locals, was that the local police tend to move on the darker half of the moral grayscale. 

It's no surprise: with a police-to-population ratio of roughly 144 per 100 000, the Indian police force is among the most understaffed in the world. Combine that with a proneness for corruption and you get an usually unsatisfactory reaction to your policing needs.

My local friends told me to avoid them if at all possible. The times I did have to deal with government functions - in matters relating to my visa - all requests for moving things forward were met with annoyance and tardiness. 

On top of that, this delay caused by them carried with it a risk of me going to jail, for not taking care of the matter more swiftly. 

It was only when an envelope switched hands that things were resolved.

But that's another story.

#india #mumbai #urban #government
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